My Fair Eponine
by Hope x Honor
Summary: Montparnasse has burglarized some of the most elite estates and has made innumerable narrow escapes from the authorities. But now he is faced with his most difficult challenge yet - making Eponine a lady. Montparnasse x Eponine.
1. Wretched

**My Fair Eponine**

Chapter 1 – Wretched

Strolling down a swarming Paris boulevard, Montparnasse pulled down the brim of his hat to shade his eyes. Apprehension always set in when traversing exposed, thus his constant need to conceal himself. He had yet to be seized by the police, but his frequent nighttime vices earned him the undesired watchfulness of the authority. Nevertheless, it was impossible to remain in the shadows when an ostentatious outfit was pleading to be showcased. The dapper young dandy could simply not survive without the looks of admiration and envy his garb received from pedestrians. As a cluster of bourgeois and students passed by, he raised his chin and inflated his chest, straightening his cravat and the blood-red rose in his buttonhole. "A picture of brilliance," he flattered himself. His rosy lips curved into a pompous smirk, revealing a set of dazzling white teeth. Feeling dreadfully satisfied with his appearance, Montparnasse took a seat on a convenient stone bench, forgetting his need to conceal and displaying himself for all to view – including a certain female urchin.

"Ah, 'Parnasse! There you are!"

At the unforgettably odd voice, Montparnasse raised his eyes from admiring the stylish cut of his coat to see Eponine scurrying towards him, tripping multiple times over her own bare feet. She only allowed a few more moments to elapse before she was seated at his side on the bench, replacing her tattered chemise on her shoulders. Montparnasse repositioned himself to face her, a smile gracing his handsome features. "Well, if it isn't my favorite street rat," he teased, his tone bearing good nature. Perhaps his elegant attire had raised his spirits uncharacteristically high. He glanced at her bony bare arms, which bore the dirt stains of weeks before. "Haven't eaten again I see." His witty smirk did not fade.

At that, Eponine's smile widened into a grin most people found horribly revolting, but Montparnasse had grown accustomed - perhaps even fond - of it. Her large brown eyes, though worn with misery, sprung to life. "Oh, quite the opposite! You'll be very proud of your 'Ponine! I picked a pocket of a fancy bourgeois today and found ten francs! Can you believe it? I certainly couldn't. I thought I was still in that dream from last night about dressing up old wrinkly men like dolls. Hah! Wouldn't that be somethin'? So I asked myself what to do with my wealth. Buy pearls perhaps! Oh, I saw pearls once, a long strand on a tight-laced high class woman! I'd be a lady, I would! Azelma would be so jealous! And Mama would be so proud! And Papa….oh! But then my stomach cried out for food, that darned thing. So I went to the bakery. The loaf I bought wasn't black! It tasted so pleasant! Though I hope it was edible…I've never had bread that wasn't black before. At least not in many years…"

Uncertain how to respond to the ramblings of the scatterbrained girl, Montparnasse merely chuckled and said, "My, you're becoming quite the pickpocket."

Eponine flashed another smile, beaming with satisfaction. Once a few moments of wide grinning had elapsed, she let her cheeks relax. It was then that Montparnasse's new suit caught her attention. "Never as skilled as you, 'Parnasse," she commented. "We are impoverished the same and look who has the finer clothes."

Montparnasse's grin turned smug. "Very true. I would definitely say my clothes are the finest in Paris! Which proves my theory once and for all, that crime _does_ pay. Just look at that man over there." His tone was highly revolted as he pointed out a fat bourgeois strolling by with a newspaper tucked under his arm. "His coat must be at least a hundred years old! If sane people ever even wore such a nauseating style. And those dull clashing colors would make anyone stick a knife in their gut! Such is how working men dress. I am proud to be of a nobler bracket." At his conclusive sentence, his features morphed back into a haughty smile, revealing his stunningly pure teeth again. He turned his sights back to Eponine, who was attempting fruitlessly to match his impeccable smile with a grimy one. "As for you, little 'Ponine…" His fingers tugged at her threadbare chemise that was threatening to descend past modesty. "You just don't know where to shop."

Eponine heaved a slight sigh of frustration, her large eyes growing dim. Misery was visibly etched out on her face. "I don't know how you do it, but every time I try to swipe a garment from someone, they notice and kick me. Or call the police. But I always outrun them." Her voice slightly livened as she boasted about her fleeing capabilities, elevating her foot to show Montparnasse where the ability originated. The sight of the small bare feet, plagued with blisters and coated with dirt, impelled the dandy to hastily return his gaze to her face, the surprisingly cleaner of the two parts in question. "I remember one freezing day…" she continued. "It was so cold my nose was covered with a layer of ice! It was in _janvier_ or _février_, though I never can distinguish between those frigid months. They're just as miserable. I saw a man in a cloak, and oh how warm the cloak looked! I was out in my usual garb and the snow was falling heavily! Papa wouldn't let me stay under our bridge because he sent me out to run errands. I usually don't mind a little shiver; it lets me know I'm still alive. But the quaking was too severe! Oh, how I yearned for the cloak…"

Her wistful abeyance allowed Montparnasse the time to interrupt. "How daft can you be?" he exclaimed, his glaring eyes sharp and daunting. "You don't swipe clothes while they're on the bearer! You either break into their house, steal their money to buy your own apparel, or…"

As his words disappeared, Eponine's eyes fixed on him with expectation and uncertainty, awaiting his continuation. However, he spoke no more, save through his eyes, which instructed her to lower her gaze to his hands. Complying, she saw his hand stealthily inch out of an inner coat pocket, producing the glistening blade of a knife that was shaded from pedestrians' eyes by his cloak. At the moment her eyes beheld the weapon, she knew the method he was recommending – one of his preferred techniques. As he fingered the blade, Eponine watched it shimmer, an unknown horror chilling her spine. While she did delight in harmless thievery, for it was her only means of survival, she could never grow accustomed to any crimes associated with murder. However, she would never permit Montparnasse knowledge of that fact, to avoid appearing pathetic. She reveled in bold boastings of intrepidity. Consequently she attempted a subject change. Her eyes switched their focus to the Paris scenery in front of her as she inhaled the polluted air. There was in fact a small ravine behind their bench which featured a sewer grating. "Ah, just smell that fresh air!" She inhaled again, this time adding exaggeration. "You couldn't find such air anywhere else!"

Curious as to what in the air delighted Eponine, Montparnasse inspired a large amount of air, just to be overcome with a coughing fit. The air was putrid. "I'll say," he managed to agree between coughs.

Eponine, whose head was again in the clouds, heard none of this. While Montparnasse smelled sewage and saw a teeming stone avenue, she inhaled the sweet fragrances of spring and beheld lush green fields. "It's such a nice day," she mumbled pensively. Suddenly she turned back to the dandy next to her, the boisterousness of her actions almost causing her to turn too far and fall. "Why don't we take a stroll, 'Parnasse?"

"Overly excessive public appearance is not healthy for folks like us," Montparnasse stated flatly, referring to their criminal records. "Why don't we find a nice dark alley and -"

"Please, 'Parnasse?" Eponine implored, gazing up at him with childish eyes, enormous and shining.

Montparnasse's eyelids fell closed in defeat, realizing he could never endure such an expression. Since their odd relationship of being simultaneously friends and lovers had been established, she used such a tactic to enforce her juvenile whims. While he endeavored to disregard and resist it, he typically furtively acquiesced, as to not appear entirely vanquished by a beseeching pair of eyes. The sooner he relented, the sooner the assault terminated. _'Ruthless assassin conquered by oddly adorable face.' _How would the Patron-Minette respond to such headlines? Heaving a sigh, he growled, "Fine. Let's go." His eyes fluttered back open but he avoided her, rising from the bench and starting down the street.

Eponine was quick to follow, in ecstasies as she skipped through the throng of people. She loved the power she possessed, understanding quite well how she could wield such an infamous criminal.

After a few minutes of weaving through the crowd, Eponine and Montparnasse reached a clearing, allowing Eponine the opportunity of linking arms with her companion. Montparnasse's lips curved up as they walked in this manner, and his step grew resolute, proud to have a special girl on his arm. Eponine chatted idly with him, distracting him from the fact that her grungy rags were touching his elegant new suit.

Although the two were equally linked together, it appeared to any pedestrian that the ragged girl was directing their course. She led Montparnasse through many lively streets, claiming them exhilarating and making many references to her previous lifestyle in Montfermeil. As they traversed through a bustling marketplace, Montparnasse stealthily procured a rose from a flower vendor. Thus was how he would acquire his favorite accessory. Since his fine coat was already exhibiting a crimson rose, he desired an ornament for his hat. However, the moment they were back in open air, the gentleman noticed with great disdain the blunder he made. "White?" he hissed, examining the alabaster rose. "Revolting! This will surely clash with my hat! Here, 'Ponine! You take it!" He virtually forced the flower upon her with a harsh shove into her chest, causing the thorns to prick her.

Startled by the unexpected prickle, Eponine automatically accepted it, taking it in her hands and considering for a moment. Her face contorted into multiple expressions of contemplation before her eyes rested upon Montparnasse. "Thank you, 'Parnasse, but I could never wear white…"

Montparnasse's expression shifted from aggravated to insulted. "Since when have _you_ given style a thought?" He gestured to the rags that adorned her. "Don't refuse it, it's a gift. I rarely give gifts." The repression of resentment dripped from his tone. Without allowing her another moment of objection, he pierced the shaft of the rose through her moth-eaten blouse, effortlessly creating a hole. Once the stem was through the fabric, he fastened it by twisting the tip of the stem, an action rather easily accomplished through the scanty cloth. "There." A faint smile appeared on his face, his malice seemingly waning.

With a slight cringe Eponine tried to disregard the cold and thorny sensation of the stem against her flesh. Although she felt incredibly unworthy of pure white, the color of innocence and virginity, she voiced not another protest. Admiring the beauty of the rose against the hideousness of her garment, she recalled a day when her chemise had been just as white as those petals. It was many years ago, just after her family went bankrupt. And before she had encountered Montparnasse. But now her blouse was a collage of browns, grays, and a repugnant yellowish off-white. Her lips forming a half-smile, she returned her gaze to the man beside her. "Thanks." An uncomfortable silence ensued. Suddenly a sight beyond Montparnasse caught Eponine's attention; a savior from this hindering situation. "Ah, look! A garden!"

Montparnasse pivoted around, his eyes following the path from Eponine's pointing finger. On the opposite side of the square, adjacent to a few juxtaposing buildings was a black iron gate, currently wide open, allowing the public access. Beyond the gate was indeed a garden, small in size compared to the renowned gardens of Paris. But such was ideal for people of such occupations; the magnificent gardens would never willingly grant them access. "Hm, quite true. That is a garden." As his hand absentmindedly moved up to his chin, he scrutinized the raiment of the bourgeois strolling through the greenery. He nodded in approval when he deemed his outfit more chic. Turning back to Eponine, he realized that she no longer stood nearby. With a vigorous speed she had already commenced towards the garden, matted hair flying haphazardly.

As soon as she had passed through the iron gate, Eponine paused to absorb the stunning scene. Spring had assailed Paris with full force. Multihued buds were emerging from every niche, showering the garden with a myriad of colors. Every hue was true and vivid; nothing was diluted or marred. Blossoms from the trees would occasionally be blown off by a fragrant light breeze, floating down like chromatic raindrops. The birds' songs were never silent, not a stanza omitted, not a line forgotten. Thus was the glorious chorus of spring, the descending of the holy angels from above. Paris no longer smelled of sewage or fumes; floral aromas were now prevailing. Merry mortals were meandering through this paradise. The elderly were delighting in the simple pleasures of life, the children were frolicking and laughing, the lovers were loving.

Rebirth and new birth transpired during this season, and not a caste was exempt from it. The heavenly air filled Eponine's lungs, regenerating life throughout her entire body. Every cell sprang to life. Her stomach no longer pleaded for nourishment, her blisters no longer throbbed, and her limbs no longer felt a trace of weakness. All thoughts of her misery were vanquished by the ethereal landscape. The memories of the agonizingly bitter winter were utterly consigned to oblivion. Spring was here. Life was here.

A hand on her shoulder recaptured Eponine's attention; Montparnasse had joined her. With an arm draped around his girl's bony shoulders, he too surveyed the vista, but with different eyes. Instead of being attracted to and mesmerized by the flowers and birds, Montparnasse perceived with elation all the oblivious bourgeois with their vulnerable pockets and purses.

The couple remained there, before a large fountain that decorated the middle of the garden, for an incalculable amount of time, each absorbed in their own fascination. Eponine couldn't repress a large smile from watching a group of lighthearted children amused by a large insect they discovered. Montparnasse on the other hand failed to suppress a mischievous smirk when an affluent woman passed by.

While Eponine's eyes were wandering about the garden in search for more blissful scenes to observe, she noticed a handsome young couple standing underneath a budding chestnut tree. Both of their hands were in the other's as they stood but a few inches apart. Their faces were radiant; bliss glowed in their beaming mouths and sparkling eyes. The great love and adoration between the two was exceedingly evident. And never had Eponine beheld such a sight. "What is that?" she whispered to herself. "Love? Papa and mama never looked at each other like that…" Although she was adequately close enough to observe the strange couple, her extreme curiosity implored her to creep closer. But Montparnasse's strong arm around her, although oblivious to her at the moment, prohibited her.

Her eyes strained for a clearer view. It was at that moment she became exceptionally aware of the two's appearances. The young man, perhaps in his early twenties, was attractive, sporting chocolate brown locks combed back straight to perfection. He dressed with fine taste, though conceivably not as discerning as Montparnasse. His cheeks bore the fresh and rosy color of youth. The ideal man of the era. Howbeit, it was his darling who was the more dazzling of the two. Golden locks cascaded down her shoulders in waves and framed her fair face. Eyes of sky blue glistened from under long dark lashes. Her blushing cheeks beautifully complimented the red of her lips. She also possessed a profusion of poise and grace, as displayed by the way she held herself upward. Not only were her face appealing and her manner charming, but also the gown that bedecked her was perhaps the finest in Paris. The dress was long and elegant, the sleeves large and the full skirt pooling slightly on the cobblestone pavement. With a silky golden fabric and an abundant amount of white lace trimming almost every layer, the dress was certainly the envy of the garden; it was the envy of Eponine at least. She stood mesmerized at such a gorgeous gown. Even in Montfermeil she had never seen anything that could possibly compare. The silk sparkled radiantly in the sunlight. Eponine's eyes fell to her reflection in the fountain before her and she grimaced.

The fancy apparel was not solely what kept Eponine's gaze fixed on the magical couple. A moment after the miserable creature released a wistful sigh at the dress she'd never have, an act of the girl she was examining caught her attention. The couple for some time had been exchanging tender whispers and giggles, but now they had moved a step closer. The girl had gently rested a delicate gloved hand on her dear's handsome face, the affectionate expression never altering. While Eponine had witnessed such things before, she had never hitherto seen it done with such feeling. This couple was sincere; perhaps that is what entranced Eponine. Soon the gesture was returned by the young man, and the pair stood cradling the other's face. Though they were beyond Eponine's hearing range, she determined that they were speaking endearments to each other. The man's finger began tracing the girl's lips, earning a blush from his darling, which in turn caused him to chuckle. The display was so sweet, so sugary, that it might have repulsed Eponine. However, that was not the case. Eponine remained watching with an incomprehensible awe and respect.

When the girl kissed her fellow, Eponine was dumbfounded. The way the two pairs of sublime lips touched under the blossoming chestnut tree appeared to be a fairytale popped out from its pages. The contact held intimacy and innocence, love and devotion. What shocked Eponine the most was that the sweet exchange appeared neither hungry nor demanding. It was gentle, cautious even. Never had she viewed a kiss like the two lovers were exchanging, and she possessed no knowledge that one day she would see such again, though between a different couple in a different garden. "I didn't know lips could meet like that…" Eponine mumbled, still engrossed by the affectionate lovers. After a few more moments, the kiss ended, leaving the two blushing and bashful. Eponine smiled longingly, absorbed in daydreams of what such contact must be like. She had kissed Montparnasse before, but never in such a manner. She didn't know such a form existed. Montparnasse was customarily quite aggressive with her, never allowing her adequate breathing time. Their breathless kisses always engendered a lightheaded feeling in her brain, like she was being hurled mercilessly off a cliff. What would a tender kiss feel like?

During Eponine's preoccupation, Montparnasse had neither acknowledged Eponine's strange behavior nor the couple she was admiring. His surveillance of possible victims was interrupted by an unidentified giggling noise coming from the west end of the garden. Optically following the sound, his eyes rested upon a cluster of four young ladies with handkerchiefs at their lips. The stifled giggles originated from them. Curious at what or whom their laughter was directed, the dandy spent a few moments analyzing them.

The quartet of young females was an exquisite group, the _crème de la crème_ of Paris. Their vibrant locks were fashioned stylishly, their faces were powdered, and their gowns were ostentatious. Superbly flawless was their postures, painting the effect of four impeccably sculpted statues. These were undoubtedly well-bred ladies.

Once he had completed his appraisal, Montparnasse perceived another feature of the four: their smirks. While their dainty giggling persisted, their wide smirks and bright eyes were concentrated in one direction – his. This newly determined fact intrigued Montparnasse immensely, impelling him to listen intently when the women commenced chattering faintly. Although a sizable distance lay between them, with meticulous straining he could discern each syllable.

"Such a gorgeous lad," admired one of the four, fluttering her eyelashes in Montparnasse's direction. Hearing this bloated the dandy with pride.

"But what appalling company!" exclaimed another through giggles, simultaneously shocked and amused. At this, Montparnasse examined his surroundings to discern what company the woman could be referring to. His eyes landed on Eponine.

"Indeed!" agreed the third woman, laughing delicately into her laced handkerchief. "I cannot decide, ladies. Is it a third-rate whore or a first-rate mutt?"

The fourth, taller than the others, with an elegant long neck and hair in a tight bun, looked with contempt at Montparnasse's 'company.' "A third-rate mutt, Cécile."

Releasing a sigh, the youngest of the group gazed yearningly at Montparnasse. "Why does he waste his time with that raggedy hussy? With his dazzling appearance he could effortlessly win one of us."

"All of us!" swooned Cécile, replacing her handkerchief with an elegant pink fan. As she fanned herself, she peered over the fan at Montparnasse with coquettish eyes.

"He obviously has no taste whatsoever," huffed the tallest lady. The four then proceeded to deride everything about Eponine, from her chafed begrimed feet to her greasy matted hair. Their obnoxious giggling augmented.

It was at that moment that agitated Montparnasse began to tune out, engrossed in his own ponderings. There existed no doubt that the ladies were referring to Eponine; his arm was still around her after all. While Eponine was still observing the lovesick couple under the chestnut tree, Montparnasse launched a discerning examination of her. He did not follow her dazzled gaze, nor even take note of it; he was far too focused on another aspect.

Montparnasse had always comprehended Eponine's dilapidation; he had never deceived himself into viewing her ravishing. He had, however, grown accustomed to her appearance, no longer withdrawing from her rags or cringing at her broken smile. Initially her few missing teeth had horrified him, but he barely noticed them now. That is, until the girls had accused him of tackiness. As his sights settled on her grimy face, he wondered silently, _"Is it so incredibly difficult to bathe occasionally?"_ Her miserable appearance was caused by her poverty, he understood that…or did he? _"I've never done an honest job in my life and look at me! She has no reason to be so gruesome." _Then why did he consort with her?

It was at that instant, while Montparnasse was questioning his relationship with the wretched ragamuffin, that Eponine grew intrepid from longing and curiosity. Beholding the amorous couple had evoked her to swoon and had planted in her mind a desire: to experience what that girl had experienced. Naturally she sought her own lover to fulfill that craving. Placing her filthy hands on Montparnasse's taintless cheeks, she tried immensely to imitate what she had just observed. This action roused Montparnasse from his contemplations, but his instincts had yet to revive. He stood there momentarily stunned, neither welcoming nor refusing the touch.

Eponine remained in that manner for a moment, gently stroking his cheeks, while straining to remember what else she had witnessed. She recalled some tender whispering occurring, though she had failed to understand it. Thus she had to improvise. "'Parnasse, you are so pretty that the flowers die in your shadow." She attempted a romantic whisper, but her voice came out raspy. "Um…" A minute-long interlude followed this hesitation as Eponine racked her brain for another compliment. Her eyes scanned all of his features, yet not a single flattery could be produced. Thus, she simply advanced to step three. With as much tenderness and chastity as a creature like her could possess, she brought her lips to his, kissing lightly.

Montparnasse's reflexes remained numb as she executed this endearment, but Eponine failed to notice, her eyes closed in bliss. It was pleasant to kiss without him practically chewing on her or choking her. However, a certain incident soon shattered Eponine's ecstasy. A chorus of sickening laughter proved enough to wake Montparnasse; he instantaneously broke away. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded furiously, his enraged glare piercing Eponine.

Eponine, startled by Montparnasse's fury, stumbled backwards. It was true she had never accomplished such feat before, but she hadn't conceived it would provoke his wrath. Although he was intimidating, she stood firm. "Kissing you! Lovers do that, don't they? You always kiss me!"

"_That_ was far from a kiss!" Montparnasse insisted, eyebrows creasing into a revolted expression. "That was the wimpiest thing I've ever felt! Weaker than that gamin who tried to paralyze me by stepping on my toes! You have to learn how to kiss properly, 'Ponine." His disdain was beginning to decline, but his embarrassment remained. "But not in public."

Eponine, though still perplexed by the dandy's response, acquiesced. She was completely oblivious to the ladies mocking her.

Montparnasse pivoted around with her, his fingers digging into the thin flesh of her shoulder. Starting for the exit, he muttered. "Come, let's go." Silence ensued, the tension increasing.

Even after they exited the garden no one uttered a sound. Eponine was tentative after what had just transpired, while Montparnasse's mind was overflowing with uncertainties. He would constantly glance at Eponine, scrutinizing her appearance. Purposely choosing the less traveled paths to wander proved his newly-wrought humiliation of being seen with her. _"She is wretched. She is blemishing my elegance. But…she's so darn addicting!" _There had to be some solution that didn't involve disposal. He just required time to mull it over. Suddenly Eponine's voice interrupted his internal soliloquy.

"'Parnasse, let's go to the Luxembourg Garden. I've always wanted to go there. There are fountains and trees and flowers and -"

Montparnasse cut her off. "You must be joking. You? In the Luxembourg? In that?" He jabbed her blouse harshly, causing the white rose to unfasten and fall to ground. The petals were detached and strewn about the sidewalk. "Use common sense, girl."

Eponine heaved a thwarted sigh. Montparnasse's sour mood was beginning to resemble her father's. The thought of her father suddenly brought something to mind. "Oh! I have to get back home! Father's expecting me to run more errands. See you, Montparnasse!" Without even realizing it, she refrained from using his nickname. With a sudden desire to flee from the dandy, she ducked out from under his arm and scampered down the boulevard towards the Gorbeau house. Montparnasse was left with his thoughts.

* * *

**Author's note: This story takes place before Eponine meets Marius and while Marius is stalking Cosette.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.  
**


	2. Contemplations

Chapter 2 – Contemplations

The eerie creak of the decaying wooden door announced Eponine's return to the Gorbeau tenement. She entered the unlit building with rapid huffs, lifting her blouse back up to her shoulders. A few hours previous, after leaving Montparnasse's company, her father had handed her the letters to be distributed that day, an enormous stack of ten. Those letters had directed her to the utmost regions of Paris, requiring much stamina to journey from one recipient to the next. As she finally arrived home, exhausted, bedraggled, sweaty, malnourished, and fatigued, the fickle sun had already vanished, bathing Paris in a starless night. After she had managed to heave herself up the decrepit staircase, she entered her family's one-room apartment.

Once in the open doorway, her father's tyrannical eye fell upon her. "Took you long enough," he reproved, furrowing his brow. "Fooling around with that dandy again?"

As she fell breathlessly against the shabby wall, Eponine shook her head. "No." No more encounters with Montparnasse had occurred since noon.

"Are the letters delivered?" Monsieur Thenardier demanded.

"Yes. All of them," Eponine responded, trying to catch her breath. At length her breathing regulated. "Have Azelma play postman next time." Her limbs, no longer numb from the evening chill, suddenly trembled with pain, inducing her to fall seated where she had stood.

"Stop your whining!" Thenardier exclaimed in irritation. "Them modern doctors say exercise is beneficial. Besides, what do you ever do anyway? Frolic around worthlessly like a little whore! It's about time you started pulling your own weight!"

Eponine, who in fact had been assisting in her father's schemes since the inn had fallen into bankruptcy, figured it best to not respond, deeming the crumbling bricks in the wall more fascinating. As she traced the innumerous cracks with her bony forefinger, a detail about their abode occurred to her – her sister and mother were absent. "Where are Azelma and mama?"

During Eponine's silence, Thenardier had forgotten her, seating himself at his makeshift desk to create more fraudulent pleas. At her inquiry, he neither lifted his eyes nor his pen. "Out."

Registering that such was his final answer, Eponine spoke no more. Instead she let her eyes wander around their shabby apartment room with both admiration and revulsion. It had been their first true residence since leaving Montfermeil, only recently obtained. While it was certainly pleasant having a roof and four walls surround them again, Eponine couldn't expel all memories of her childhood home. Remembering soft beds, feathery pillows, papered walls, multiple rooms, warm fire, and ample illumination impelled her to scowl at tattered brick walls, straw cots, thin abrasive blankets, meager grey furniture, and a melted candle. And then there was the matter of clothing. Never would a hint of glorious color grace her attire again. When her eyes fell back down to the rags that clothed her, a little puncture in her blouse caught her attention. Her thoughts drifted back to earlier that day, to the white rose pinned on her tatters. How out of place it was - something beautiful stemming from something wretched. What a contrast that must have been. With an inaudible chuckle, Eponine tried to imagine how others might have responded to beholding something so preposterous. Gorgeous and hideous so proximate.

At that moment a vision flashed before Eponine's eyes. She viewed herself on Montparnasse's arm, boisterously chattering as they strolled down the boulevard. She had realized the difference between her and Montparnasse's appearances many a time, but only now did she comprehend the extent of such a difference. She, a dreadfully deformed guttersnipe, beside a luxurious gentleman with an impeccable complexion. It made no difference that they were in the same class of society – there was an undeniably enormous dissimilarity. She had seen her reflection in rivers and shop windows before; she knew she was homely. But seeing herself compared to Montparnasse made her appear monstrous.

In an instant the vision departed, leaving Eponine to ponder. _"If I really am that disgusting, why does he spend time with me?" _she questioned herself, dejectedly resting her head upon her knobby knees. Suddenly another memory drifted into her mind, prompting her to raise her head and grin. An indescribable warmth fell upon her as she reflected. The kiss from earlier had penetrated her perplexed mind, providing a momentary distraction. She closed her eyes blissfully, feeling again the lightness of her lips against Montparnasse's. _"If only he had kissed back that way…what a dream that would have been." _But no, he had deemed it not a kiss at all. In addition, it seemed to aggravate him. Nevertheless, it was not something Eponine was liable to forget for quite some time.

"Don't just sit there like dust, you useless slut!" Her father's offense delivered Eponine's mind back into the black depth of the earth.

Eponine's eyes rose to meet her father's. "I already delivered your letters. What more do you want?" she grumbled.

Thenardier scratched his stubbly chin for a moment, devising a method of deporting Eponine. Her mere presence was prohibiting his concentration. "Go to your Montparnasse fellow," he commanded, eyes lighting up from his idea.

Eponine visibly hesitated. Montparnasse's earlier remarks implied a possible irritation with her; perhaps he would not simply welcome her into his quarters with open arms.

"Go on!" Thenardier compelled impatiently, tapping his quill pen on the desk.

Words ran dry on her tongue. She dared not defy her father, but she truthfully wasn't in the mood for visiting Montparnasse. The dandy didn't demand her presence every night, which she was incredibly thankful for; she did desire her sleep after all, albeit it was uncomfortable on her straw. Montparnasse owned a genuine mattress, but she was rarely permitted an adequate amount of slumber. At length, she voiced her protest. "I'd rather not, father…"

The quill pen fell from the man's hand. The unthinkable had just occurred to him. "What did you do?" he gasped, a ferocious volcano about to erupt.

Eponine, understanding her father's misconception, hastily responded, "Nothing!" After the words flew out, she realized how guilty her tone sounded.

Thenardier perceived the undue guilt and rose from his chair, his face turning a violent crimson. "If you did something, _anything,_ to damage my standing with Patron-Minette, you will eternally regret it, hussy!" Selfishness was incredibly characteristic of Monsieur Thenardier. The sole reason he endorsed his daughter's relationship with Montparnasse was to secure himself a position in that infamous gang of criminals.

Eponine rose to her feet as well, fearing to be caught in such a vulnerable position. "I swear to you that nothing went wrong! I just don't feel like sleeping with him tonight…"

Thenardier balled his tiny red hands into fists. "Creatures like you can't be particular!" he snapped, bearing his decaying yellow teeth. The veins on his furrowed forehead protruded immensely, a sign of vast animosity. He trembled where he stood, threatening to cross the distance between them and belt her for insolence. At that moment an empty bottle of liquor lying on the desk caught Eponine's eye. "You're fortunate to be in his favor!" the intoxicated man continued. "You, such an ugly beast! He only endures you because you're free!"

Eponine's gaze fell to the rotting floorboards. She was accustomed to her father's callous insults and learned after many years to disregard them, especially when Thenardier was drunk. This one, however, penetrated her heart. She knew what he implied by the term "free" – and it wasn't freedom. _"Perhaps that's why 'Parnasse stands me…"_

In the absence of a response from Eponine, Thenardier's ruthless tirade ensued. "He has a million and one whores and doesn't care about the likes of you! You're nothing to him! Dirt, filth, grime! A pesky little maggot! He would gladly push you into the dust where you belong and let you rot there! You're no use to nobody! So don't press your luck! He -"

"Okay, you can stop!" Eponine cried, unable to suffer anymore lies about Montparnasse. They were lies…weren't they? "I'm going!" Feeling more capable of facing the wrath of Montparnasse's knife than the ferocity of her inebriated father, she submitted. With the velocity of a fugitive, she bolted out the door, slamming it roughly behind her. The entire building quivered.

* * *

Nothing but a dim candle illuminated the small apartment room of Montparnasse. Although somewhat cramped and shabby, it was a palace compared to the disrepair of the Gorbeau house. The aged walls were clothed in discolored floral wallpaper, beginning to rip in some areas. While his room was sparsely furnished, the furniture he did possess was highly refined. One could only have assumed he obtained such during a mansion robbery. The small polished bureau displayed a stranger's monogram. Altogether his necessary furnishings consisted of a mahogany desk with a complementing chair, a wall mirror embellished with ornate carvings, a relatively large bed with a white wooden headboard, and the monogrammed bureau. Withered rose petals served as the only decoration, scattered haphazardly atop the bureau and windowsill. While the dandy would have indubitably preferred to dwell in a more luxurious residence, that dream was unattainable. An ostentatious mansion didn't exactly conform to the inconspicuous life a man of his occupation required to remain out of prison. Thus he adapted to this confined apartment room, obscurely lodged at the far end of a narrow cul-de-sac between two lofty ominous buildings.

Currently Montparnasse was seated at his mahogany desk with his elbows propped up supporting his head. An open bottle of brandy sat before him on the desk. Any observer of such a scene would determine him drunk, but he had not taken more than a sip of that alcohol. He had acquired it from the market square shortly after Eponine's departure, and had opened it, anticipating a boisterous night. Eponine would assuredly prefer his bed over her bale of hay, he presumed. However, his mind soon fell into contemplation, dispelling all thoughts of revelry.

His humiliation from those ladies degrading him still throbbed like a freshly stabbed wound. It was his first indication that people actually heeded him and Eponine. When striding alone down the boulevard, he perceived all envious eyes on him; but with Eponine, he never gave it extreme consideration. They didn't excessively appear publicly; much of their time was spent where Montparnasse directed them – deserted alleys and isolated passageways. However, he had occasionally allowed Eponine her pleasure, casting them into vastly populated areas. Thus the odd pair had been observed.

A radically distorted picture of squalid Eponine flashed before Montparnasse, amplifying all her horrendous qualities. Her face suddenly appeared immeasurably caked with filth, her voice as hoarse as Gueulemer's, her eyes positively miserable and void of light, her hair matted like a nest of rats, her body's stench unendurably malodorous, and her body as emaciated as a skeleton. Thus was the Eponine he now saw: an exaggerated Eponine. He shuddered at the repulsive image and began to question his intellect. "How could I, undoubtedly the best-dressed in Paris, consort with such a foul creature?" he asked his bottle of brandy. In an instant the image of Eponine returned, this time focusing on the ghastly apparel. It seemed as though her chemise, of an atrocious color and repugnant style, fitting her no better than a coarse sack, was literally disintegrating before his very eyes. Her tarnished olive-colored skirt, already exposing chafed bony ankles, was full of so many rents that a prostitute would think it immodest. (He never paused to consider that he was the cause of many of those rips.) When her feet were in shoes, the shoes were of crude wood, making Montparnasse prefer her feet bare.

Incapable of enduring the sight any longer, the dandy shut his eyes. Montparnasse, being a man of impeccable taste, found her garments unbearably appalling. "How can she walk around so dreadfully clothed? She may not have her pride, but I certainly do."

Thus it was decided. He could not continue to blemish his reputation with that ragamuffin on his arm. An urgent course of action was demanded.

A faint rap on the door, almost hesitant, was perceived by Montparnasse, interrupting his rumination. Rising up, he moved to answer it, internally pleading that it could be a Patron-Minette member requesting assistance and not Eponine requesting company. He seized the knob anxiously and swung the door back, revealing the visitor. A brisk gust of wind breezed past the visitor, fluttering her olive-colored skirt. Eponine.

"'Parnasse…" she hesitated, uncertain of his current mood. By his gaze it appeared he considered her a specter. His pupils were dilated, his eyebrows were knitted, and his lips were slightly parted, producing a frightening effect of suppressed impetuosity. A fire temporarily smothered, just to combust into seething flames moments later.

Not a sound escaped Montparnasse's lips as he stood before the door. The only motion of his body was the twitching of his dark eyebrows as his daunting eyes remained locked on hers. This creature dared to appear when enormous amounts of disgust had been directed at her? Dreading to behold his mental of image of her, he had shut his eyes. Now the tangible Eponine had arrived like an unrelenting apparition, determined to perpetually haunt him to the brink of insanity. Although not exaggerated as in his mental image, her filthy features stood truly before him. He had been tormented enough by her for one day. After another moment of horror, he turned his face away as one would shun a pile of manure.

Eponine, unaware of both the ridiculing ladies in the garden and the deliberation she had interrupted, was puzzled by his present countenance. She of all people was aware of his bizarre mood swings, but nothing like this had ever occurred before. Because he was a very sensual person, his rage was always released physically through bruising or exploiting her. Being greatly accustomed to that, a greeting such as thrusting her against the wall or threatening her with a knife wouldn't have alarmed her. This greeting of remaining inert and impenetrable was disconcerting her. "'Parnasse, is something wrong?" she ventured to ask, tentatively entering the room. Her fingers faltered slightly as she reached behind herself to shut the door. _"Perhaps I shouldn't. Perhaps I should leave." _Her eyes, which had been wandering about the room in search for evidence, fell back on Montparnasse. His demeanor was unaltered. _"But if he doesn't want me to, our next meeting will be chaotic."_ A sudden gust of wind embraced her bony limbs with its clammy grasp, persuading her to shut the door. With the wailing of the wind muffled, silence blanketed the room. Eponine examined the statue, perplexed.

While Montparnasse appeared as lifeless as a statue, internally he was very much animated. Thoughts were pounding against the inside of his brain, producing a throbbing in his head. _"She is an uncouth and dingy whore! Why is she here? I didn't invite her!" _The memory of an invitation he had once extended her, saying "Stop by my place any time you're lonesome," with a wink, had clearly withdrawn from his mind. _"I should throw her out! Such a rat belongs in the streets! She has no right to my pristine sheets!"_ This resolved, he finally made an effort to speak. "Why are you here?" It was delivered hostile and callous through gritted teeth.

Eponine cast a glance at her bruised feet, unwilling to meet his glare. "Papa forced me. Sorry…" Although uncertain as to why she apologized, she felt it best in this situation.

A reluctance to expel the girl cascaded over Montparnasse. If she didn't sleep here it would mean the streets. _"And that concerns me how?" _he wrestled with himself. He dared not consider it his conscience that emitted the hesitance. _"She's slept on the street before. It's not winter. It doesn't matter." _His eyes rested on her apparel as he scrutinized it once more.

"Are you certain you're fine?" Eponine inquired, slightly encouraged that he had yet to produce his knife. "Did a scheme of yours fail? Or was it something I did? Because you're looking at me like Papa once did to Mama when she put on a hessian sack to look pretty."

Montparnasse remained silent, the battle within still waging. His scornful eyes targeted a particularly great splotch of grime on her blouse from an unknown source. A shiver coursed through his body was he envisioned that filth contacting him. As his brow furrowed ever the more, his expression of ferocity intensified.

Eponine, perceiving this, sensed that his eruption point was drawing near. Soon he would become violent. While still confused at the origin of such rage, she detected it and decided how to counteract it. The key was distraction; she performed it in the only method she knew. Leaping forward suddenly, she latched onto him with her arms around his neck, kissing him in his preferred manner: passionately.

Every last thought and notion deserted Montparnasse's mind at this unforeseen action. As was always during these times, thought was forsaken and instinct prevailed. The dandy no longer perceived Eponine's filth or how it was rapidly tainting his flawless attire. His entire deliberation was forgotten in an instant. Perhaps any woman held such power over him; or perhaps that power solely belonged to Eponine. No more did Montparnasse consider the girl revolting as he hungrily returned the kiss. Not a memory of the giggling ladies or the humiliation he felt contaminated him. Perhaps he was blinded by lust, or perhaps he was liberated by...?

Whatever the vindication, Montparnasse's inhibitions of touching the unwashed waif were quelled. With fervid movements he grasped Eponine relentlessly, pressing her as close to him as humanly feasible. He bit at her lips as they kissed, ignoring her faint whimpers of pain when his teeth sank in too deep. Soon he became restless and proceeded to slamming her against the wall and hovering over her like a ferocious hunter. The assault began anew, penetrating deep into her mouth and nearly choking her.

Eponine silently cursed whoever invented implementing the tongue in kisses. Her eyes fell shut as she struggled to enjoy what she had instigated, somewhat wishing she had departed when presented with the opportunity. While she sometimes adored intimacy with Montparnasse, he frequently made it too rough to find pleasant. And such was one of those nights. As he introduced even more lasciviousness, Eponine squeezed her eyelids further, attempting to bear it. _"There's that plummeting feeling again," _she thought as her mind spiraled.

If such encounters were so unpleasant for Eponine, why did she tolerate them? Was she intimidated? Was she desperate? No. While such was Montparnasse's desired part of their encounters, Eponine relished the mornings. To awake in a warm cottony bed in the tender arms of her lover was what she truly fancied. When drowsy, Montparnasse was uncharacteristically mellow; his kisses were sweeter and his caresses were gentler. Sporadically a lethargic mumble would escape his lips, which Eponine found quite adorable. The ardent assassin was a lamb in his sleep. Eponine loved to see him so vulnerable.

The night dragged on endlessly, prolonging Montparnasse's indulgence. Eventually, however, it tapered down, terminating with a number of milder kisses bereft of teeth or tongue, pleasing Eponine immensely. Under the velvety sheets with Eponine in his arms, Montparnasse soon drifted off into slumber, quite exhausted. Eponine remained awake for a stretch of time, listening to the lullaby of his heartbeat.

* * *

The lucid light of morning permeated through the dusty window panes of Montparnasse's room, illuminating the slumbering lovers. Resting in each other's lax grasp, they lay sprawled about the bed, intertwined in the tousled sheets. A disarray of garments were scattered around the room, Eponine's blouse the centerpiece as it hung over Montparnasse's mirror. Neither person would have been able to elucidate its means of arriving there.

Because of the apartment's convenient desolation, the room was enveloped in utter silence. Neither pedestrian nor bird dared to venture through the dismal alleys that winded up towards that dubious building; thus, there was no outside clatter. In spite of this fact, Montparnasse found himself awakened by a sound. Once he regained his vision he was able to deduce its source. It was the light snores of Eponine.

Although delivered from slumber, Montparnasse was not alert. He yearned deeply to just shut his eyes and return to his dream about robbing a luxurious clothing boutique, but the glimpse of sleeping Eponine prevented him. After a moment of fruitlessly closing his eyes, they gradually reopened.

Through his disheveled black locks he peered down at Eponine. With her head resting against him, her nose burrowed into the hollow of his neck, she dosed tranquilly, a contented smile upon her lips. Acknowledging her repose, he resolved to remain in his current position, placing his chin atop her head. Upon doing so, he realized that her hair didn't feel nearly as matted as it appeared. Actually it was relatively soft.

At that moment the thoughts and recollections that had previously been displaced returned, sending a shudder through Montparnasse's body and prompting him to sit up. With some affection lost, yet with the same amount of tenderness, the dandy gently pried Eponine loose from him, placing her a considerable distance away from him. While a serene sigh escaped the girl, she did not stir.

With Eponine at a more reasonable distance, Montparnasse gained a full view of the sleeping waif. However, much to his astonishment, he did not examine her with contempt like the previous evening. It was impossible; she no longer resembled a mound of dung in his eyes. In fact, as bizarre as it was to admit, Eponine almost seemed normal. With intense curiosity and puzzlement, he inclined his body closer towards her, desiring a better view.

No longer shadowed by Montparnasse's form, Eponine's face was entirely exposed to the radiant sunlight streaming into the room. This celestial light did more than illumine her face, however. Sunbeams frolicked gently about her skin, granting radiance to her misery-worn features. Instead of sporting a mask of grime, her face was now bedecked in glorious fair skin.

Thus is the magic of morning light; it possesses beautifying qualities. The sun's influence cannot be expelled; even the coldest of hearts can be warmed.

Eponine's enchanting face captivated Montparnasse. Here lay a face seen through many emotions of life: miserable, ecstatic, distraught, irritated, alarmed. Yet never had such a face as unpleasant as this appeared resplendent. Raising a hand to his face, he rubbed both eyes to ensure his alertness. The blindfold of reverie had indeed departed; this was truly Eponine. For a moment Montparnasse mentally compared the revolting vision he had received last night to the one that now lay before him. A tremendous disparity was manifest. Only a slight trace of dirt could be detected on Eponine's cheek, which was lightly erased by Montparnasse's finger. Inhaling a whiff of the air, he perceived but a light odor emitted by her, not nearly as rancid as he had anticipated.

Leaning over her, Montparnasse spent more than a few minutes in astounded examination. Although only her face was visible above the sheets, he could locate not one repulsive quality that justified the detestation he had previously felt. It needn't be said that he now saw her in a different light. An incalculable amount of time elapsed while he contemplated his emotions of the night before, currently comprehending how effortlessly Eponine had distracted him. That was predictable, however, in light of his disposition. At length a sound escaped this hushed being. A soft chuckle broke the tomblike silence of the room. "Eponine, how strange you are. You force me to think. I seldom contemplated anything before you emerged from the grimy gutters." This was voiced in an odd tone, not at all bereft of a little affection.

Although addressed, Eponine remained blissfully unaware of the assessment occurring, lost in a utopia of white horses and French pastries.

Now conscience of the deep sleep that was blanketing Eponine, Montparnasse felt more solitude and deemed it harmless to voice more of his undisclosed ponderings. "Perhaps I judged you too severely, 'Ponine. You're not always exceedingly hideous." The finger that had wiped away the dirt smear was now delicately tracing the outline of her profile. Suddenly an unfamiliar tinge besieged him, relentlessly initiating an assault in his gut. Deep in the pit of his stomach he sensed it, momentarily overwhelmed. What was this unidentified force? Guilt? Preposterous! Assassins never experienced such a cowardly emotion. Denying it seemed to alleviate the pang temporarily, for the tinge waned.

Banishing the inexplicable incident from his thoughts, Montparnasse directed his attention back to Eponine. Gradually he found himself lying back down beside her, unsatisfied with the distance he had created between them. Enveloping the slumbering creature in his arms, he embraced her amorously. "If Babet ever saw me fondle her…" At this he cringed. Before him lay the vast obscure wasteland of uncertainty. He himself understood none of his actions. Just a few hours before he was entirely repulsed by the sight of her; but now he was experiencing a foreign sensation. What perplexed him enormously was that despite the absurdity of their entire relationship, presently he felt a hint of peace. Not a soul was near who could report such behavior to the Patron-Minette; Eponine herself was ignorant. This permitted him a little more audacity than he would have initially thought.

In an instant a recollection seeped into his puzzled mind. During his brooding the night prior, he had considered deserting her for the sake of his reputation. His fingers curled around her emaciated bare arms as he deemed it futile. Much to his bewilderment, he could not find it feasible to relinquish Eponine, regardless of how unkempt she was. Something unknown within him repressed this normally ruthless cut-throat. This little street rat had somehow penetrated his callous heart and was clutching with an adamant grasp. He internally admitted that he savored her presence. While he still detested her choice of attire, the abhorrence he had directed towards her had evaporated. "I wasn't thinking intelligibly. I cannot abandon you, you little wretch, even though your appearance is so foul." Although he was confessing such to a sleeping Eponine, he resolved never to do so to a conscious Eponine. Not a soul should obtain such knowledge.

However, the dilemma of public presentation still existed. As his brain set to tackling this complication, a movement interrupted him. At last Eponine was stirring.

With slow, lethargic movements common to the art of awakening, Eponine's body gradually began to reactivate. Squirming slightly, her legs became even more entangled with Montparnasse's as she blindly determined her position. Discerning the proximity of his body to hers, she lightly kissed where her lips met his chest. While more roused than customarily in the morning, Montparnasse allowed her this privilege. Once she had adequately demonstrated her semi-consciousness, the charming criminal determined that if he remained silent, she may never awaken fully enough to stop her slobbering. "You snore 'Ponine," he mumbled, lifting his chin from its nest in her hair.

A giggle escaped Eponine's lips as she ceased her affectionate display. While she wriggled away from Montparnasse to gain some stretching room, her drowsy lids opened languidly. Her first sight of the morn was the handsome face of the most dapper young man in Paris, gazing with fondness upon the most wretched girl in Paris. "Well that's a fine 'good morning'," she muttered, scratching her scalp lackadaisically. In attempt to shake off sleep, she rubbed her eyes with her sallow little fists and noisily smacked her lips. Though perhaps more awake, her eyes were still partially closed. All at once she became cognizant of her undress and shivered, the sheets no longer providing sufficient warmth.

Noticing this, Montparnasse draped his arms around her, caressing the cold flesh of her back. "Cold?" he asked.

Eponine, growing slightly more aware with every passing second, was slightly surprised by his actions and tone of voice. Recollections of the affair last night drifted back into her mind, kindling images of Montparnasse's livid features. Yet now his manner seemed temperate and moderately less apathetic than was typical. _"Ah, must be his drowsiness," _she determined, her eyelids closing in contentment. Her favored moment had commenced. Montparnasse had received his delight last night; her time had arrived.

Brushing his fingertips lightly against her bony spine, Montparnasse felt his body falling back into a state of relaxation. He found something about such a position quite comfortable, despite the fact that her unwashed body lay up against him. "Rueful 'Ponine, what would you ever do without your blanket Montparnasse?" Such was meant as a rhetorical question, spoken in a humorous tone. "Freeze I suppose."

"I'm not always this cold," Eponine informed with a hint of pride, nestling her nose back into the hollow of his neck. "My clothes, wherever the poor things may be, provide some…"

"Those scraps?" Montparnasse cut her off. "You might as well wear nothing! Your rags are as thin as _batiste _and as horrid as hessian cloth!" Even though he was yet again criticizing her apparel, there was something of an amused and good-natured quality in his tone.

"They provide the illusion that I'm wearing something then," Eponine decided. "They usually don't ward off the cold. Oh, and they're horrid in the rain! So damp and soggy and weighing me down! But I have no choice I suppose…" As she spoke, her breathe against Montparnasse's skin produced a tickling sensation.

If Montparnasse was susceptible to the unpleasant tingles of tickling, perhaps he would have laughed or shoved Eponine away. However, he simply ignored it. "Hm," was his grunt of a reply.

This silence allowed Eponine adequate time to reflect. The man beside her didn't appear exceptionally drowsy, yet the antagonism he previously bore seemed to be completely dissolved. Whatever had kindled the fuming fire in his soul must have departed his mind. _"Perhaps my distraction works remarkably well," _she thought with satisfaction, smiling to herself.

The quietude lingered for a lengthy amount of time, pouring bliss into Eponine's heart. She reveled in moments such as these when the brutal world in which she dwelled faded into vibrant shades of ecstasy. Montparnasse was far from being the perfect lover, occasionally bearing a slightly abusive side, but such moments like the present were undoubtedly worth tolerating the harshness. She had never received such pleasing treatment before meeting the noxious fashion-plate. When in his arms she experienced a feeling of significance. Her father regarded her as worse than sewage and all other men scorned her. Montparnasse was the only one willing to endure her company and to hold her in such a way that perhaps signified care. That was a feeling that distributed pleasant tingles throughout her body, very dissimilar to the wrenching lightheaded sensation a different contact induced. Her ridiculously wide grin expanded when she felt a light kiss press against her forehead. "'Parnasse, you can be so sweet sometimes," she purred, her voice unfortunately low and hoarse.

"Nonsense," Montparnasse denied. His hands ceased caressing her back, resting comfortably above her conspicuous hipbones. "Charming, yes, but sweet, definitely not. I'm not a kitten."

Eponine released a giggle, memories of her childhood flooding her mind. "That's very fortunate for you, monsieur. Azelma and I were the finest kitten-clothers in Montfermeil," she boasted.

"Goodness," the dandy gasped. "Seeing how you dress yourself, I feel deep sympathy for that poor defenseless creature."

Quite amused with Montparnasse's banter, Eponine laughed gleefully. Once the laughter had subsided, restlessness settled over her, causing her to fidget. Immediately she regretted her movements, an unpleasant ache coursing through her muscles. Hoping to receive relief, she reluctantly maneuvered out of Montparnasse's inviting grasp and sat up, the blankets slipping off her and falling to her waist. Afflicted with a sudden rush of chill, she hastily raised them back up to her chin. These three successive motions, performed with little care for the soreness she was nursing, induced a painful surge. "Ow," she winced.

Observing all this, Montparnasse was soon sitting up as well. While his muscles weren't exceptionally pleased with this, they didn't throb as intensely as Eponine's. In his line of business he was quite accustomed to discomfort. "Sore?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Slightly," Eponine admitted, longing to release the blanket and straighten out her throbbing arms. The frosty air and her lack of attire prevented her.

"Ah, I see we've been slacking off then," Montparnasse murmured pensively, eyeing the waif. Then, leaning forward, his lips at her ear, he spoke in a low voice, "We need to get you back in shape."

While Montparnasse began gently nibbling at her ear, Eponine experienced both anxiety and excitement. At least more encounters ensured more morning cuddles. At that moment, the blouse draped across the mirror caught her eye. "Ah, so that's where you've gotten off to! How'd you get up there?"

Lifting his head, Montparnasse recognized what Eponine was referring to. "I haven't the foggiest notion," he lied, well aware of his oddities when intoxicated by Eponine.

In a startling instant Eponine sprang off the bed, ignoring the ache in her limbs, and started towards the mirror. However, forgetting about the blankets in her grasp, she began dragging them along with her. Montparnasse, who was now fully exposed to the bitter air, protested. "Hey!"

By some means Eponine managed to reach the mirror without stumbling over the tangled cluster of sheets. "It's time to get up, sleepyhead!" she teased, snagging her rumpled blouse. With the mirror uncovered, she began to examine her appearance. It was not every day that she beheld a genuine mirror.

Releasing a grouchy groan, Montparnasse left his stripped bed. Thus the tedious task of locating the countless layers of his fashionable apparel commenced. As he investigated the floor near the bed, he amusedly listened to Eponine's prattle.

"We mustn't sleep all day, no matter how lovely it is," she said, watching her reflection as she attempted to arrange her knotted hair. "We'll miss all the fancy bourgeois and their vulnerable pockets. Another day of work! If Papa doesn't hand me a colossal stack of letters to throw at people, perhaps we can work together. That's always so nice! You're very pretty, you distract everyone so easily. It takes me more effort. Oh! That reminds me…"

Amidst the jovial chattering of the girl, Montparnasse had succeeded in locating his cotton shirt. Much to his dismay, it bore an appalling little smudge of dirt. He immediately determined the origin.

Concluding her ineffective attempt at beautifying herself, Eponine proceeded to dressing. When she took hold of her skirt, which had been abandoned somewhere by the mahogany desk, she discovered that another rip had been created. "Playing dead is a great tactic for earning a living, did you know that? I discovered so last winter! I was collapsed on the sidewalk, utterly frozen, when a careless man tripped over me. A few moments later I noticed a wallet lying near me! A little jolt is usually what it takes to dislodge a wallet from its previous owner. Those bourgeois are so absent-minded." The steady process of dressing himself continued as Montparnasse endured her infinite rambling. As for Eponine, because of her preoccupation of educating the most proficient thief in Paris, she would occasionally blunder in her donning, delaying her progress. Lighthearted Eponine was unconcerned. "Or I might just possibly avoid my father today," she continued. "Have Azelma run errands for a change! I want my own life. Then I can spend the whole day with you, 'Parnasse! Oh, how pleasant that would be! We could stroll down the boulevard like yesterday! I enjoyed that, did you? Or how's about we invade an elegant gala and feast on real food! Food without mold! Oh! I know! Let's ruin an exclusive opera! How I've longed to burst in during a melancholy aria and scream 'You're under arrest!' and watch the chaos! C'mon, let's do that tonight, all right, 'Parnasse?"

At last there was a cessation. Montparnasse now stood before the half-dressed creature, entirely bedecked in a ravishing suit. Although he had collected all of his misplaced garments, he stored them away, repulsed by the notion of wearing bedraggled clothes. Such was too Eponine-style. "Impossible. I have a meeting to attend, 'Ponine," he stated, his tone lacking disappointment. "Directly." Glancing in the mirror behind her, he adjusted his silk cravat. "And tonight there will certainly be a job to do." He commenced towards the door.

"Great!" Eponine exclaimed, stumbling over her skirt as she pursued him. The light of an idea was kindled in her eyes. "Your little Eponine will accompany you, 'Parnasse! And tonight we can do lookout duty! Papa always makes me watch for the law so I'm a regular expert now!"

Montparnasse cringed, remembering the last time he had allowed Eponine to attend a Patron-Minette meeting. The other men had grown rapidly impatient with her idiotic interjections. "You're too distracting," was his excuse, ignoring the pleading eyes of his lover. A glance at them would have instantly conquered him, but he was too shrewd to fall prey. While the dandy was no longer infuriated with Eponine, he preferred not to be seen in public with her for the time being. Another episode of humiliation was what he truly dreaded. In addition, the other members of the Patron-Minette were even blunter with their insults than he. Their jeering was already too excessive. He had suffered enough humiliation for one week at the least.

Eponine was not vanquished yet. "Please, Montparnasse," she implored, struggling to get into his line of sight. "I promise I'll behave! I won't call Gueulemer a dainty princess this time!" Her scrawny fingers clutched at his velvet overcoat.

Montparnasse heaved a sigh. His unexplainable addiction to the girl deemed it difficult to roughly cast her aside, but he simply could not afford anymore mockeries. He brushed her hand off his flawless coat, avoiding her eyes. "I must leave now. Be here tonight. After the job we'll do some…reveling." Grabbing her blouse and pulling her close, he planted quick kiss on her lips. Though it was still forceful, it lacked the roughness of the previous night, pleasing Eponine considerably. The prompt termination of the kiss was dissatisfying to her, but forcibly prolonging it would surely bring it to an undesired intensity. "Oh, and breakfast is over there," Montparnasse added, pointing to his desk. Atop the multipurpose surface sat a brown sack full of bread he had acquired the day before. While Eponine was considering it thoughtful that he would occasionally provide her meals, he stealthily slipped out the door.


	3. In Which Gueulemer Utters Wisdom

Chapter 3 – In Which Gueulemer Utters Wisdom

The gentle spring breeze rustled Montparnasse's coattail as the dandy expertly weaved through the labyrinth of Paris byways. On a course towards La Salpêtrière during daylight hours, he took further precautions in the deserted streets he traversed, masking himself in the shadows. Although it was barely morning and most Parisians were immersed in slumber, a Patron-Minette member could not afford to lack vigilance. After he had traveled a considerable distance away from his residence, he allowed more thoughts to lurk about in his mind. As his eyes watched the muddy pavestones pass beneath his feet, Eponine once again fell into the spotlight of his thoughts. A smile stealthily crept upon his lips as senseless reveries invaded his head. She was skipping beside him, laughing merrily about something utterly irrelevant, constantly calling him 'Parnasse. An ambiance of lightheartedness was radiating from her as she flashed a grimy grin, content to folic through the desolate alleys in her deteriorating rags. Not a soul was present to mock either of them. Her incomprehensible cheerfulness possessed the power to enliven even Montparnasse's irritable mood.

Suddenly a chorus of boisterous noises reclaimed Montparnasse from his fantasy. Lifting his eyes from the pavement, he realized that he was no longer roaming through a barren street. His mental diversion had altered his path, directing him straight into a swarming market street. Reality instantly returned; he was late for his meeting and Eponine hadn't been frolicking beside him, almost certainly still in his apartment gorging herself on bread. "How could I have allowed my mind to wander so foolishly?" he chided himself, recoiling into the shadows cast by the towering buildings. His shady sanctuary was conveniently nestled between an abandoned cart and a street lamp, shielding him from public viewing. Dismissing the odd occurrence, he promptly refocused on his assignment, scanning the area for any alternate routes.

Typical to all Parisian markets, the square was brimming with life. Many a bourgeois strolled about on their respective errands, while others were simply basking in the morning radiance. Pompous politicians and dignified merchants were strutting about in a flock of dandies, causing Montparnasse to grit his teeth in envious disdain. A biting urge to permanently end their flaunting coursed through his cold blood as his fingers mechanically grasped the handle of his knife. However, his immense experience in his occupation prevented him from executing such acts in public. Removing his eyes from the dandies to alleviate his rage, his sights were directed towards a fine cluster of groomed women standing before the jewelry peddler. Bearing much similarity to the exquisite ladies in the garden, they twirled their parasols and flaunted their ostentatious gowns as they gossiped amongst themselves. With fashion ever on his mind, he critiqued their attire and after a few moments deemed them chic. "Eponine, if only you would strip these young ladies of that fine merchandise," he muttered as if the waif were crouching beside him in the shadows.

Ladies were draped in the finest of silks, walked in the most attractive slippers, and were bedecked in all that sparkled and enticed. Their mannerisms were beyond reproach and their social status was extremely elevated. They were gorgeous little angels floating above the rest of Paris on their pedestals of perfection. The ideal woman. Never would a snide remark be uttered about Montparnasse if they were who he consorted with. With his attractive appearance, he had but to open his arms and a multitude of these polished china dolls would flock to him. Perfume and silk would flourish. Squalid tatters would vanish. Why not chose a mistress from this crop of women?

Focusing intently on the dainty creatures, Montparnasse watched as one bashfully waved to handsome young fellow before shrinking back behind her fan with a giggle. A groan escaped the criminal witnessing the scene. There was his answer. While the attire was sublime, Montparnasse detested the women inside the resplendent apparel. Pompous, pretentious, flimsy, and gutless. They would never endure the treatment Montparnasse gave Eponine without constant deafening shrieks. These dolls were too easily broken. Although she was unsightly, Eponine was sturdy; the model mistress of a bandit. If he was a bourgeois he could afford keeping a timorous poodle, but consequently he settled for Eponine. There was no conceivable way to have both beauty and backbone, was there? An indiscernible shade of an idea was about to form in the depths of the assassin's mind…

"Oy, it's M'sieur Montparnasse! What'cha doin' 'ere on this lovely mornin'?"

Although Montparnasse did turn his gaze towards the threadbare garb, unwashed complexion, bright brown eyes, and the mesh of curly dark locks peeking out from under a Gatsby cap, the voice was all that he required to determine the addresser's identity. Little Gavroche had arrived. Instinctively the felon seized the boy's sweaty hand and forced him down into the obscurity. "Don't draw so much attention!" he whispered harshly. "How'd you notice me?"

Brushing off his oversized workmen's coat, Gavroche situated himself in a more comfortable position, sitting beside the crouching man on the pavement. "Easy," he answered nonchalantly. "You stick out like a sore thumb."

In response, Montparnasse released a grunt as he tentatively scanned the multitude. Although he doubted he had been detected by another, he crouched further behind the cart to ensure his concealment. With his eyes still focused intently on the market square, he searched beseechingly for an escape from the gamin. He understood what awaited him if he remained in Gavroche's company. In addition, the boy's accent was quite contagious.

Gavroche eyed the man for a moment in silence, attempting to discern his current activity. Was he simply making mischief like a mirthful gamin (which would be quite pleasing to Gavroche), or was he engrossed in a critical Patron-Minette assignment? After wiping his runny nose blatantly, he posed a question. "'Ow's my sister? You were with 'er weren't ya?"

Tearing his eyes away from his examination, Montparnasse glared furiously at the bothersome nuisance. Gavroche returned the assassin's intimidating glower with an arrogant grin. Only one family was capable of remaining undaunted before the malign cut-throat. "Yes, I was with her," he grumbled, returning his sights to the scene before him. Perhaps ignoring the boy would compel him to depart.

"She must 'ave liked that," Gavroche responded, desiring to prolong the conversation. "Though I rarely see 'er, when I do she always talks 'bout ya. Says ya smell pretty. Can I 'ave a whiff?"

As the gamine moved closer to him, Montparnasse swiftly backed up in repulsion. "No. You're as grimy as your sister."

"I think grimier!" Gavroche declared with a triumphant smile. "I was just rollin' in the mud with some other swine. You should try it some time, M'sieur!" When Montparnasse didn't respond, again observing the mass, Gavroche inched closer. "Ya gonna rob someone?" he whispered. Rising up slightly, he peered over the cart in attempt to discern which character was the dandy's victim.

"No," he muttered without altering his line of sight.

"Ya gonna kill someone?" Gavroche asked eagerly as if he were awaiting the commencement of a carnival.

With a fiery glance towards the gamin, Montparnasse answered, "It's dreadfully tempting…"

Oblivious to the irritation he was provoking, the child continued vivaciously. "If ya've been with Eponine then why's ya up so early? I usually don't spot ya till dusk."

"I'm needed," the dandy replied. Avoiding eye contact had proved unsuccessful, but perhaps if he provided minimal answers Gavroche would run out of questions and disappear.

"Where?" Gavroche probed with immense curiosity. Snooping was decidedly his specialty.

"Can't say."

Slumping down on the pavement, frustrated Gavroche reexamined his battle tactics. Montparnasse was tremendously secretive; information extracted from him inflated Gavroche with satisfaction. Currently he was behaving like a jar of marmalade refusing to open. At that moment a method for prying open the stubborn jar occurred to him. "Ah, goin' t' see another lady friend! I see! Don't be cheatin' on my sister, 'cause I'll tell 'er. Maybe I don't like 'er that much, but she's flesh an' blood. Ya gotta treat 'er right, M'sieur!"

Now that he was being accused of infidelity, which astonishingly was not yet on his extensive list of crimes, Montparnasse turned his attention towards Gavroche. With ferociously knitted eyebrows, he directed his most piercing glare into the eyes of the gamin. Although he didn't truly expect the boy to flee like a frightened puppy, he also didn't suppose him to return the glare. A boy of eleven was capable of mirroring his fearsome murderer's glare! Thus the stare-off began. The inconspicuous corner in the shadows was as silent as a coffin during those few moments. Both obstinate boys, though one was considerably older, refused to shrink. Vexed by Gavroche's endurance, Montparnasse eventually broke the silence. "What are you, her father? I treat her perfectly fine. I even provided her with breakfast this morning."

With eyes brightening back to their usual cheerful state, Gavroche nodded in approval. "Good." Silence ensued, inspiring in Montparnasse relief that Gavroche was satisfied and had relented. Gavroche, however, was not in the least way content. "So then where _are_ ya off to?"

An exasperated groan escaped the dandy. "It doesn't concern you!"

Bearing an impish grin, Gavroche relentlessly pursued. "C'mon, ya can tell me. I'm trustworthy. Didn't tell the cops 'bout that ancient vase ya swiped from the Luxembourg last fall."

Montparnasse, aggravated and delayed, felt thwarted. If he simply arose and continued his journey, the pest would undoubtedly trail him. Even if he navigated through the most treacherous byways, the nimble creature would somehow persist. And the boy made a valid point; while he had knowledge of many of Montparnasse's offenses, he had yet to report them. Perhaps he was indeed reliable. Heaving a sigh, the dandy acquiesced. "Fine." While leaning forward and placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "The Patron-Minette is gathering today."

"Ah!" breathed Gavroche. His eyes flickered in delight as he realized he was now privy to the most accomplished gang of crooks in Paris. "But why so early?"

Before breathing the next piece of information, Montparnasse inched even closer. "A grand mansion on the Rue des Champs-Élysées will be vacant tonight. The masters are going on vacation and there will be but a few female maids inside. Old ladies I hear, and very heavy sleepers. We must prepare."

"'Ow thrillin'!" Gavroche enthused, restraining himself to the most excited whisper he could muster. "Is Eponine gonna go too?"

A look of horror passed over Montparnasse's face, reacting as if Gavroche had asked him to do the unthinkable: shave off his ravishing dark locks! "'Ponine? No. Definitely not," he replied firmly. "We don't operate well on assignments together. She is far too…distracting."

With a sly understanding grin, the eleven-year-old chuckled. "Ah, I see!"

Initially Montparnasse was disturbed that a child comprehended what he was implying, but a remembrance of his childhood days returned to him. Living on the streets since a very early age, Montparnasse had always known more than was considered proper.

Pulling his cap down over his eyes, Gavroche arose from the pavement. "Well, I'll be seein' ya. Got some more folks to torment!"

"Adieu," the dandy muttered in relief as the urchin finally vanished. Deciding to advance before another hindrance occurred, he promptly rose to his feet and smoothed the wrinkles in his morning coat. Once he was convinced that his coat had reached maximum perfection, he licked his finger and replaced the curls that had strayed from their proper position. With a few adjustments to his cravat and the wilting rose in his buttonhole, he was prepared to glide through the swarm. Preening was always a necessity for such undertakings. As he stepped out from behind the cart, blending into a cluster of bourgeois, he considered his withering rose. Currently he didn't possess a sufficient amount of time for a flower cart theft, but perhaps after the conference it would be possible.

With adept weaving and evading employed, Montparnasse navigated through the market and entered the next alleyway in approximately five minutes. During those few minutes his agile fingers had acquired three wallets, five lace handkerchiefs, a silver watch, and a strand of pearls; all of which had been victoriously deposited in his own enormous pockets.

On his journey Montparnasse maneuvered through countless alleyways, some more treacherous than others, all bearing one identical characteristic: obscurity. A typical Parisian would never advance farther than the first alleyway, blind by darkness and unnerved by the bleakness. Such was what proved it superlative for the bandit's wayfaring. He was now well acquainted with a great percent of Paris' nefarious labyrinths and traversed with the utmost ease.

At length he reached La Salpêtrière without another incident, ensuring his timely arrival at the Patron-Minette meeting. Concealed behind a cluster of decrepit buildings, the majority at least half demolished, was a relatively small abandoned field forgotten by almost everyone, including the police. That was what ordained it a hideout for the Patron-Minette. The diminutive shack tucked away amidst the shadows of the decaying buildings provided exceptional security.

Although miles away from any prying eyes, Montparnasse had yet to let his guard down. While fording through the impetuous sea of shriveled weeds, he took every fathomable precaution to avoid rustling the parched grass. As he danced through the unyielding tangle of thistle, he regarded neither the overcast sky nor the crisp breeze. Nature was insignificant in his mind, thus he overlooked it. Because it granted him no bliss, he sought after what would indulge him: Paris – an inorganic jungle of pleasures to be seized.

Not until Montparnasse had crossed the threshold into the dim, fetid, humid, dilapidated room reeking of brandy and tobacco did he slightly relax. Occupying the entire room were three men, each in their own respective positions. Babet, short and rather plump, was seated on a splintery stool enjoying a pipe. His stool was near to collapsing as he lounged with his bare feet propped up on a timbered table. The table was furnished with a number of bottles, a disintegrated candle, and a tattered map, the latter of which burly Gueulemer was attempting to scrutinize without inhaling the fumes wafting from Babet's toes. Claquesous, as was customary, was leaning against the wall in the far corner, almost entirely veiled in the shadows. Such was the type of atmosphere only the most dastardly of creatures could survive. The smoke of the pipe did not suffocate them, nor did the darkness of the boarded-up windows blind them. If daylight hadn't penetrated the shack through the innumerable cracks in the walls, replacing the dissipated candle would have been mandatory. Ducking through the doorway that only truly suited Babet, Montparnasse was detected, summoning the attention of all three inhabitants.

"Ah, well look who's finally 'ere!" Babet, who had temporarily removed his pipe to speak intelligibly, arose in his greeting.

"You're late!" grunted Gueulemer with a voice so heavily roughened by alcohol it resembled a bear's growl. Although his voice bore vehemence, his relaxed shoulders conveyed his relief that Babet had removed his feet from the table.

Having approached the round wooden table, the heart of where all felony was conceived, Montparnasse seated himself upon his reserved seat, a stool slightly less eager to distribute splinters than the others. "I was detained."

Eyes illuminating with exhilaration, Babet retook his seat. "Ah! Ya finally got yourself a new mistress! Good boy!" His exclamation was immediately followed by a horrendous nasally cackle. "Hah! Your old one was more 'ideous than Gueulemer!"

While Gueulemer was voicing his objection, Montparnasse's eyebrow twitched. He habitually refrained from losing his composure until the others had. As the youngest of the gang he was required to prove his maturity. "Eponine is still my mistress," he stated flatly.

Babet's features contorted into a revolted grimace as he eyed the dandy. "Oh, c'mon boy, you can do better than that! Look at ya!" Arising from his seat, he approached Montparnasse and commenced circling about him with contemplation. "A splendid hat!" His calloused hand collided with the fine material of the young man's hat. "Wavy locks! Oh, how I miss my hair! And a fine complexion for a crook, I'll say! Stylish coat –" he lightly tugged on the coat sleeve – "A rose in your buttonhole! Why, them ladies must be launching themselves at ya! Look at all your options!"

Straightening his displaced hat and removing Babet's foul hand from his coat, Montparnasse remained silent and indecipherable. Thus his compatriots were permitted to continue.

While Babet again plopped down on his stool and took up his pipe, Gueulemer spoke up. "Hah! I can still remember that fateful evening when ya introduced her to us as your mistress! We had such a laugh! Thought ya were the best joker in Paris!"

"Looked like a junkyard next t' a mansion is what!" Babet chortled, his pipe in his mouth. Due to his barbarous laughter, he inhaled an excessive amount of smoke and began to hack. None would have noticed, however, for his cough and his laugh sounded entirely identical.

"And them rags!" Gueulemer mentioned, although his own attire wasn't far from being considered that. "So 'orrible! Must've been covered in dung! She'd look better in nothing!"

Babet, having recovered from his coughing fit, set down his pipe and resumed his obnoxious cackle. "Oh no, don't say that! Probably looks worse! She's hardly even a dame after all!"

After considering Babet's words, a slightly confused expression appeared on Gueulemer's deformed face. "But what 'bout your saying "any dog looks like a goddess once ya strip 'er?" Y'always say that."

"Doesn't apply to this one, my friend!" chuckled Babet before tilting his head back and pouring brandy into his mouth. After a blatant gulp, he flung the empty bottle behind him, just narrowly avoiding the silent Claquesous. "Though brandy does help beautify them ogres. Ah! I see then! Hitting the bottle a little too often, eh Monty? Hah!"

"Not any more than you scum," Montparnasse muttered, attempting to restrain himself from exploding. He acknowledged Eponine's unattractiveness quite frequently and was growing considerably vexed with the topic. Sending a quick glance towards Claquesous' vicinity, he was somewhat curious as to what that enigmatic shadow was thinking.

Claquesous, having lingered patiently, expecting their nonsense to terminate soon, sensed Montparnasse's gaze. Without producing a single sound, he arose from the abyss and took his seat around the table. "Selecting Thenardier's daughter for a mistress does demonstrate questionable judgment, Montparnasse," he stated, his voice like an eerie whisper in the night. "However, we did not assemble to discuss such trivial matters. Now, concerning the Rue des _C_hamps-Élysées robbery, I have already relayed the information I gathered. The only current residents are a number of elderly women..."

"Pick yourself up a mistress tonight, boy!" Babet suggested between two atrocious cackles. "Them old fart-bags'll be prettier than your Eponine!"

As Babet and Gueulemer broke out into a cacophonous symphony of laughter, Montparnasse felt his fists impulsively clenching. He had assumed Claquesous' mention of their imminent operation would remove them from the topic of his homely mistress. Aggravated to the core, the dandy finally unshackled his emotions. "Yes Eponine is an 'ideous little slut! I know that! 'Ow blind d'ya think I am? But she's none of your concern! Ya fixin' to run my life? Ya can't even run your own!" Only after the words had been released did Montparnasse realize the accent he had spoken in. Gavroche's accent, in conjunction with a little of Babet's and Gueulemer's, was highly contagious.

All three men, appalled to hear Montparnasse's refined accent turn so casual, had astonishment etched on their features, Claquesous' concealed by his mask. The rage on the dandy's face relaxed slightly, abated from being unleashed. When Babet had recovered his wits, he leaned closer to Gueulemer and whispered, "What's wrong with 'im?"

Straightening his cravat with dignity, Montparnasse spoke in his normal accent, with less exasperation.

"Eponine may not be gorgeous, but she's reliable. Those fragile dolls known as ladies could never endure me or my lifestyle."

"Guess ya can't have both beauty and durability," Babet pondered, fingering the cork of another bottle. "Still, it's a shame."

"'Ey, if ya aint got a pistol, stick your hand in your coat and pretend," uttered Gueulemer.

Slightly confounded by Gueulemer's metaphor, Montparnasse, on the verge of verbalizing another thought regarding Eponine, fell silent. Was Gueulemer suggesting imagining that repulsive Eponine was attractive? Such had been attempted before, but to no avail. Perhaps another possibility existed…No! The grand robbery merited absolute concentration. He could not allow any more thoughts of Eponine to disturb him. With a shake of his head, he endeavored to terminate the discussion. "My private life is my own affair. It doesn't concern you gents."

"Perhaps…" began Claquesous softly, glancing at the melted candle. "But your mental health does concern us. To remain a member of Patron-Minette, a completely sound mind is required." Irritated that the topic had not been dismissed, Montparnasse opened his mouth to protest, just to be silenced by Claquesous. "But I digress. Tonight's assignment is the essential matter." Thus a reviewing of tactics was launched.

As the four men poured over maps and floor plans, Montparnasse successfully accomplished focusing his mind on his one true passion, crime, and dispelling all other notions. In their scheming he both contributed greatly and listened intently. The others had soon forgotten about their little teasing festivity and were filled with their own emotions regarding the impending venture.

The conference ran for about three more hours, encompassing incredibly minuscule details such as the cricket population in the front lawn. All agreed that every single aspect of their operation should be planned out precisely to ensure success. Thus everything was discussed, from weapons to tools to attire to body weight. Each man was assigned his own duty according to his distinctive advantages and drawbacks. For instance, massive Gueulemer was not the ideal man for soundlessly sneaking about the marble dining room floor. Responding to detection was another key factor determined during the meticulous discussion. By the conclusive summary of the meeting, every man had their obligations committed to memory. If pillaging the opulent estate succeeded, they each could achieve their undisclosed desires. Montparnasse was especially eager to possess all the extravagant raiment the mansion had to offer.

Once every maneuver was devised, the Patron-Minette bandits went their separate ways: Gueulemer to procure some lunch, Babet to one of his fraudulent side jobs, Claquesous to lurk in the shadows in wait for victims, and Montparnasse to pickpocket in a local park.

As Montparnasse passed through the park's iron gates, feeling completely prepared for the break-in, his mind was concentrated wholly on his current activity. A rose had already been placed in his mouth, signaling his acute attentiveness. Strolling along the brick-laden paths, entirely ignoring the magic of spring, he had already targeted a number of prospective victims for his light fingers. A flock of perfectly groomed men were gathered near the fountain, basking in the warm sun and fresh air. Distracted by the scenery, these men proved superb prey for the dandy. Remaining absolutely casual, Montparnasse began advancing towards them. His appearance told of a man awestruck by the stunning scenery, but in reality his eyes were continually focused on his targets. Such was his ingenious method of eluding his possible audience. Not one of the blabbering bourgeois suspected that in a few moments they would be bereft of their wallet or pocket watch.

Fully prepared to slither by the first mark and extract a valuable item, Montparnasse continued to advance. Nearer and nearer he crept, always a second closer to expanding his pockets. He possessed impeccable confidence in himself, haughty and artful as he was. With the thrill of pickpocketing encompassing his thoughts, he felt even more impressive at that moment. However, that all vaporized when an unexpected individual crossed his path.

Now only a few feet away from the cluster of gentlemen, Montparnasse's eye happened to momentarily glimpse a further crowd. Clumsily weaving through the mass on a course towards the exit was an apparition. Any other would have regarded it as such, the creature being so hollow and emaciated. Montparnasse, however, was well accustomed to this individual. "Eponine…" he uttered through gritted teeth. Fortunately he had not been noticed by Eponine, and in a flash the haunting specter had been devoured by the throng.

Instantly Montparnasse's serene one-track mind was hurled into an abyss of chaos. His previous frustrations and consternations had reappeared to relentlessly provoke him. The wilting rose fell from his mouth and landed on the pavement, soon to be trampled by a dozen different feet. Images flashed through his mind; the four jeering ladies, the visions of Eponine's exaggerated wretchedness, the pleasure he derived from her company, the taunting Patron-Minette compatriots. Because of Eponine, Montparnasse was for the first time in his life feeling uncertain and befuddled. He had always known himself completely and was in full control of himself, and yet in two days he had been sent whirling into the unknown. Attributing these agonizing experiences to Eponine shifted the blame and resentment towards her, yet it made it no easier to consider disposing of her. If only a solution could be attained, then he could continue his normal crime-filled conduct without consequence. "Why does she have to so persistently haunt me?" he groaned in exasperation. A number of passersby examined him with hesitance before hastily departing, but none of this was noticed by the agitated dandy. Recalling the initial tranquility of his mind after the meeting just inspired more strife within. Glancing about him, he inwardly yearned for Eponine's presence to distract him like it had the previous night. How he longed to drag her into some deserted alleyway and beat her senseless for all the trepidation she had caused him. Montparnasse, noted for unwavering resolve and lack of conscience, was now experiencing tumult inside of him. Was there any abatement?

It was at that moment that Gueulemer's bizarre metaphor drifted back into his mind. "If you don't have a pistol, stick your hand in your coat and pretend," he repeated in a more dignified dialect. After a few more repetitions both mentally and verbally, a pedestrian shouldering by awakened him. Scanning his surroundings, he found himself where he had paused, standing like a living statue in the middle of a well-traveled path. Directly before him was nothing but empty pavement; sometime during his mental deliberation his victims had disappeared. Narrowly dodging two more collisions, Montparnasse made his way to the side of a path and perched himself on a stone bench. Perhaps if he was functioning normally he would have took advantage of his impact with pedestrians and acquired a few trinkets, but currently his mind was too absorbed with one matter: devising a permanent antidote for his 'thought disorder.' He was thinking and analyzing things way too excessively; such was not beneficial for a man of his profession.

Removing his hat and setting it beside him, Montparnasse's flawless posture became slumped as he bowed his head and clenched fistfuls of his hair. In this position he struggled to restrain and organize his rampageous thoughts. With eyes fiercely shut tight and a taut body, his turmoil was apparent to all observers. "What a poor young man," an old woman sympathetically commented on catching the sight. Montparnasse, furiously engaged in mental combat, was unaware of the attention he was drawing. Gueulemer's words threaded together in his mind, echoing infinitely. After minutes of effortless scrutiny, he raised his head and opened his eyes, finding a different position more manageable in his endeavors. Such would be more advantageous to his hair in the least.

What precisely was he rummaging through every dimension of his mind for? He himself possessed no answer. Anything that could console him and thrust him back into reality. He lacked understanding of why his mind was reacting in such a manner to something so trivial, but he apprehended one aspect: it required resolving before the forthcoming job. His brain was no longer abiding by his guidelines; it needed to be reoriented.

Undeterminable amounts of time lapsed as Montparnasse incessantly reanalyzed the situation. Time and again he pushed the concept of rejecting Eponine but could never bring himself to believing it conceivable. Without Eponine he would have to return to purchasing his pleasure, which in turn reduced the amount of other luxuries to procure. In addition, such a woman would simply be unbearable. Montparnasse enjoyed the fact that Eponine was his possession that no other man was permitted to touch. Women of the street belonged to everyone. Where was the pride in that? Heaving an infuriated groan, he clenched the fabric of his pant legs in frustration. All of these thoughts had already been multiply recycled, providing no solution. Another technique was mandatory.

Forgetting his present location, the dandy commenced a new deciphering method: verbal deliberation. Never before had he been presented with such impediments and was unaware of the best process of reasoning; thus, he tried what his inexperienced mind proposed. "'Ponine, do you know how complicated you're making my life? If you were here presently, do you know what I would do? Oh, you definitely don't want to know. Possessing such knowledge would overwhelm your miniscule brain." A number of bourgeois exchanged wary glances and swiftly moved away from the psychotic man talking to himself. For the umpteenth time that day, Montparnasse repeated Gueulemer's words. "If you don't have a pistol, stick your hand in your coat and pretend…Perhaps if I pick it apart…" After slowly repeating it a number of times without success, he cursed under his breath. "It appears so simple! How do I not comprehend this? He probably just meant pretend Eponine's a lady. That dunce! I would have to be blind, deaf, and paralyzed to believe Eponine wasn't a waif! All right, I've discovered the meaning of your ludicrous metaphor, Gueulemer. Topic dismissed!" And for a moment he snatched up his hat and arose from the bench, intending on leaving the tortuous place of thought, no closer to the solution than before. However, the spark of a new idea caused him to retake his seat. "Could such idiotic words contain the answer?" Perhaps it was just an impulse, but he felt himself approaching the end of the treacherous blind road. "Perhaps if I rephrase it. Pretend you have a pistol…put your hand under your coat and form a pistol…turn your hand into a pistol…" As he racked his brain he replaced his hat beside him, deeming the length of his stay great. "Turn your hand into a pistol…and turn Eponine into a lady!"

At last the nonsense of Gueulemer had been converted into wisdom! Was this the strange beckoning message encoded in the brute's meaningless suggestion? Could it be that simple? "Of course!" Montparnasse exclaimed, rising up. In a second he had been delivered from utter perplexity to complete satisfaction. He had decoded the perplexing words that had been relentlessly disturbing him! A means of repairing his strangely befuddled existence had finally materialized. New life surged through him; all of his trepidations vanished. "What a fool I am!" he chided himself. "Such a straightforward solution and it took me this long to interpret it? Montparnasse, you're slipping." A smile, radiating of pride and gratification, spread across his features, and in an instant he released a humorous chuckle. Ignoring the stares of ever-growing confusion from the pedestrians, the dandy placed his hat on his head and arose. Heading down the cobblestone path towards the exit of the garden, he couldn't contain the preparation in his mind. "I truly should have considered this option sooner. Eponine may not possess the skill and sense to obtain finer clothing, but I most certainly do! I'll dress her up like a doll!" Another laugh resounded from him. "How delighted she will be! She'll be forever in my debt once I slap on her a decent dress or two. That will undoubtedly benefit me. And being publically viewed with her will no longer bring ill repute." Casting a haughty glance at his exquisite attire, his pleased grin increased. "Yes, I shall be like a doctor, curing the style-depraved. Eponine shall be my patient. That little puppet would do anything I told her if she thought she would look attractive!"

With his chin raised an incalculable height, Montparnasse commenced down the avenue with an aura of self-admiration about him. He had favorably regulated his life in two seconds without causing any personal misery. His infallible plan was guaranteed to provide both parties with delight, although Montparnasse was more concerned with his end of the bargain. Instead of disgracing him as grungy Eponine had, elegant Eponine would certainly exalt him. "Wait…elegant Eponine?" Pausing under a lilac tree, the fop reanalyzed a mental image of Eponine, who bore an enormous lopsided grin on her filthy face. However, deeming his antidote inerrable, he laughed any forming qualms away. "It will unquestionably be a great challenge, but the most exquisite man in Paris will assuredly manage!"

After several more moments of praising himself, Montparnasse advanced on his journey towards his apartment. Considerably bloated with arrogance, he decided to travel through populated areas to display his stunning radiance. He supposed that all of the pathetic and cowardly creatures he passed were groveling at his feet, when in reality only a few adolescent young ladies cast a second glance. As the bright spring sunbeams illumined his path, his mind had commenced strategizing a battle plan. The mansion of that night's burglary job would indubitably hold the answer to obtaining stylish female garb. One of the most prominent women in Paris resided there, deeming the selection of gowns limitless. With his fashion expertise, designating the perfect dress for Eponine would be child's play. "I already know her measurements. Zero-zero-zero!" A chuckle at his own joke was emitted. With the sun granting his face a healthy reddish color, he imagined with ecstasy the attire he would adorn her with. "I shall replace her hessian cloth with silk, her…" At that moment a thought occurred to him. Eponine had most likely returned to his apartment and was lounging around with nothing better to do than collect dust. "Shall I tell the little wretch or surprise her when I have obtained the garments?" he asked himself. After walking a few more steps, he arrived at a decision. "Surprising is always a more amusing method. It's like an ambush, really."

Without any apprehensions in his heart, the dandy continued his stride towards his abode. Did this method he had composed hold any possible trace of altruism? He supposed not. In his eyes, transforming Eponine into a decent-looking creature was solely for his benefit. If Eponine gained something, so be it, but she was not his concern. He could care less about her reputation. This egotistic young dandy was only interested in one person – himself. Or so he kept insisting to the peculiar shade of a voice he sporadically perceived.


End file.
